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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29267940">Will I Find My Peace</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazel1706/pseuds/hazel1706'>hazel1706</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>vday 2021 💕 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, Future Fic, Harringrove Week of Love 2021, M/M, Mutual Pining, Neighbors, Pool Sex, Post-Season/Series 03, Sexual Tension</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:55:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,997</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29267940</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazel1706/pseuds/hazel1706</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Every goddamn day Billy regrets moving in with Heather. His shitty studio apartment was just fucking fine, thank you very much. Even with the mold under the radiator. And the cracked window pane. And dysfunctional neighbours. All that aside, he was perfectly happy with his old place. </p><p>True, his scarred up lungs couldn’t handle the constant draftiness, and he’d had more than one panic attack when the arguing next door sounded a little too familiar, but…</p><p>But at least there he didn’t have to deal with Steve goddamn Harrington and his stupid tiny shorts.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>vday 2021 💕 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2157063</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>183</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Harringrove Week of Love</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Will I Find My Peace</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title from Through Hell by Palisades (i was having a hard time with titling this one, don't look at it too closely lmao)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Every goddamn day Billy regrets moving in with Heather. His shitty studio apartment was just fucking <em>fine</em>, thank you very much. Even with the mold under the radiator. And the cracked window pane. And dysfunctional neighbours. All that aside, he was perfectly happy with his old place. </p><p>True, his scarred up lungs couldn’t handle the constant draftiness, and he’d had more than one panic attack when the arguing next door sounded a little too familiar, but…</p><p>But at least <em>there </em>he didn’t have to deal with Steve goddamn Harrington and his stupid tiny shorts.</p><p>It wasn’t something he considered, when Heather told him she was moving into some swanky apartment building. Her parent’s life insurance payout finally came through, so she could afford the rent. It didn’t occur to Billy that Steve and his rich-ass parents could <em>also</em> afford fancy apartment rent. </p><p>He didn’t think he <em>had </em>to consider that<em>. </em>He knew Steve was also in Chicago—moved here when his band geek gal pal graduated and started going to uni—but of all the goddamn buildings he could live in. It <em>had</em> to be the one Heather chose. </p><p>Still fuckin’ weird. Living somewhere with walls that are all one colour, pristine crown moulding in the hallways and shit. And a pool. There’s a pool in their building. </p><p>Which was the only reason Billy said yes in the first place, honestly. She’d tried to get him out of his old apartment before, with her incessant promises to be the best roommate ever, but it wasn’t until she told him she was moving into a place with a pool that he finally caved.</p><p>Should have known that the pool would come with a catch.</p><p>Because Steve, apparently, had taken up swimming again. </p><p>Something Billy knew he’d actively avoided before, he never came to the pool in Hawkins when Billy worked there—not that he looked for him… And rumor had it the pool at his house had been emptied out and left covered since that girl disappeared. </p><p>But now. Here. In Chicago, Steve had gotten over whatever was keeping him on dry land in Hawkins, because every fucking day Billy sees him, in the hallway, dripping wet, half-naked, walking back to his apartment with a towel hanging ‘round his neck, and it’s driving Billy insane.</p><p>Every day, when Billy leaves his and Heather’s apartment to go to work, Steve is on his way back from the pool. Every day they run into each other in the hall. </p><p>And every day Billy has to go to work thinking about the water droplets beading on mole-dotted skin, Steve’s bare back as he disappears into his apartment, the curve of his waist. Every goddamn inch of bare skin that he’s gotten a glimpse of haunts him. Always with the thoughts of what he would taste like, and the scent of him wafting by as they pass each other in the hall, chlorine and the remnants of whatever shampoo he still uses, the honey scent hasn’t changed since high school. </p><p>They don’t even talk. The first time Steve spotted him in that hallway—the day he and Heather moved in—he’d just stared. Lips parted, rosy-red and plush, already driving Billy up the wall thinking about what they’d look like wrapped around his dick. </p><p>And then he turned and slipped back into his apartment. And Billy felt...bereft. </p><p>He doesn’t know why he expected anything different, they hadn’t exchanged a single goddamn word since they were teenagers. Since that night at the Byers’. Not even after Starcourt, when Billy was...different. When he was finally in on what <em>actually </em>happened that night, and he felt even worse about it than he had before. </p><p>He’d talked to Heather, and Max, and El, and no one else. Caught snippets of news about what Steve was up to, here and there, little things. He’d tried his best not to look like he was desperate to know, but in hindsight...he wasn’t subtle.</p><p>He always thought about apologizing. Still does think about it. Every time he sees Steve. But it’s been so long. Too long. </p><p>So maybe he fucking deserves this. Being stuck in pining purgatory. Getting his fifteen glorious, torturous seconds of almost-contact, just enough to keep the annoyingly long lived crush alive, but not enough for...anything else. Never enough. He’s drowning and parched all at once.</p><p>It takes six weeks for him to crack.</p><p>Maybe it’s seeing Steve outside of their allotted awkward hallway time. Maybe it’s just the fact that Billy’s got little to no self-control, especially when it comes to pretty boys.</p><p>Either way.</p><p>It’s nearly midnight. He’s doing laps in the pool, trying to clear his head, tire himself out enough to actually sleep. No one comes down here this late except Billy, and he finds he likes it that way nowadays. Mostly the pool gets used by that couple on the third floor and their pack of brats, and the old people who do their weird water aerobics class every Thursday. </p><p>And Steve. Every morning. In his little green shorts and nothing else.</p><p>Billy stops. Sighs. Treads water for a second before letting himself sink like a stone. </p><p>When it’s not nightmares about getting his heart ripped out by a giant evil meat spider keeping him awake, it’s this.</p><p>He stays under until his lungs start to burn. </p><p>And when he resurfaces, Steve is standing at the edge of the pool. </p><p>Billy blinks up at him. Wonders if maybe he actually drowned himself this time, and this is some kind of...well, it’s hard to tell if this would be heaven or hell, actually. Kind of depends on what Steve does next.</p><p>What he does is fiddle with the towel in his hands, and let his gaze wander over every goddamn thing in the room except Billy. </p><p>Yeah, this is definitely hell.</p><p>Figures.</p><p>“Pretty boy, you come here to swim, or what?”</p><p>Steve’s eyes snap to his, and he blinks, mouth working soundlessly. </p><p>Damn that fucking mouth.</p><p>Billy turns his face, scoffing, hoping derision covers for the heat in his cheeks, the way his gaze is drawn to Steve’s lips. He can’t afford to look too long at Steve right now anyways. Him and his goddamn chest hair. Wet swimming trunks do not hide boners.</p><p>He’s trying desperately to picture anything but the way Steve’s shorts ride up his thigh just a little, pressing his mouth to that soft skin, sinking his teeth in, leaving marks behind—anything else, like...Heather’s weird stinky face-mask goop. The old dude he works for who always smells like burnt rubber. </p><p>He’s running out of things that aren’t Steve when a loud <em>splash </em>distracts him. </p><p>The displaced water hits him in the face, leaves him spluttering. He’s still trying to blink it away when Steve resurfaces, and grins, like a smug little shit. And that should <em>not </em>be hot, but—</p><p>“Wanna race?” Steve asks him while he treads water. He asks so casually, like they’ve been friends for years. Like the last time they spoke wasn’t a conversation that ended with them both bloody and unconscious. </p><p>Billy’s not sure he’ll ever figure out Steve Harrington. The guy’s always been a frustrating, captivating enigma. The second he heard about <em>King Steve</em>, he wanted to know more, yet the more he learned the less he understood. When he found out about the Upside Down things started to make more sense, but here Steve is, doing more weird shit for reasons Billy cannot fucking fathom.</p><p>“Sure, Harrington,” Billy responds after a moment, bemused, “Let’s race.”</p><p>Turns out agreeing to race Steve was a terrible idea. Billy blames his post-Mind Flayer body for failing him, loudly and repeatedly, claims that before he had his chest torn open he could’ve swam circles around Steve. It’s bullshit and they both know it, Steve’s a damn good swimmer. Billy was never that good, not even when he spent every free hour he had in the ocean. </p><p>He was good enough to teach the Hawkins brats how it’s done, kids that didn’t know their ass from a water wing. Natural enough in the water that he’d have beat most people, but apparently Steve’s secretly a fucking mermaid or something, because he isn’t <em>most people.</em> </p><p>Billy pulls himself up out of the pool and falls back against the tiled floor with a wet <em>smack</em>, staring up at the ceiling and trying to steady his breathing. He tells himself his lungs are burning and his heart is racing because he was pushing himself, and ignores the fact that Steve grinning at him really didn’t help. </p><p>He’d teased, and smiled, and splashed water at Billy like they’re old friends. It was the friendly sort of banter-y competition Billy was too angry and rough-around-the-edges for in high school, but always desperately wanted with Steve. That and more, but this was something <em>achievable</em>. </p><p>And here it was. Achieved. Yet it didn’t feel...right.</p><p>Steve climbs out of the pool next to him, water splashing as he kicks his legs awkwardly, fumbling. He makes it eventually, and sits with a contented sigh.</p><p>“You kicked my ass out there,” Billy says lightly. The sky is dark, not a star in sight through the glass panel ceiling. He watches the light from inside reflect off the burnished steel window frames instead. </p><p>Steve huffs a laugh. “Call it payback.” His voice doesn’t give anything away. Doesn’t sound malicious. But Billy stiffens anyways. Sits up and turns to look at Steve. He opens his mouth to say more, but Billy cuts him off.</p><p>“I’m sorry.” There. He said it. Finally. But it doesn’t feel like enough. Especially not when Steve’s big dumb expressive Bambi eyes get all sad, his mouth pitched downward, and Billy’s stomach twists. “I’m...<em>so </em>sorry, listen, I know it was a long time ago and I should have said it back then, but I fucked up, okay. I fucked up and I feel like shit about it, and I don’t...I don’t get why you’re just. Here, like…”</p><p>“Like I forgave you a long time ago? Because I did,” Steve says softly. <em>So </em>softly, like a gentle hand caressing Billy’s back, comfort he’s not sure he deserves. </p><p>He blinks, horrified to find tears burning behind his eyelids. He blinks again, trying to will them away. “When?”</p><p>It’s not the question he meant to ask. <em>Why</em>, is the more pressing one. He has a sneaking suspicion about the answer to both questions, however. The suspicion weighs on him, like a stone in his gut.</p><p>And Steve shrugs, casually, stares out at the water and kicks his feet around in it. “Dunno exactly. During senior year, definitely. I wasn’t really holding a grudge, man. Other shit happened that night.” He gestures vaguely to his face, “The bruises healed up and it was kinda, outta sight, outta mind, y’know?”</p><p>That wasn’t what Billy was expecting. The shit he got from everyone else was always, <em>you saved El, can’t stay mad at you after that.</em> Every single one of her dweeby-ass friends tried it. And it got suffocating. Some bullshit redemption he didn’t fucking earn, didn’t <em>want</em>. The single most traumatic thing to ever fucking happen to him—which is a <em>high </em>bar—and they all just brought it up, like it was the coolest goddamn thing. He couldn’t stand it.</p><p>But not Steve, apparently. Steve’s always been different, he should’ve fucking known.</p><p>“I don’t get you, Harrington.”</p><p>Steve laughs quietly, ducking his head til his damp hair flops down his forehead in dark clumps. Billy’s fingers itch. “Nah, you’ve got more than you think you do.”</p><p>“I—what?” Billy croaks, pulse thundering in his ears. He cannot mean what Billy thinks he means. Hopes he means. Wildly speculates about what he could <em>possibly be fucking talking about</em>. Steve’s just...weird. He’s a weird dude. </p><p>And Billy waits for the perfectly reasonable explanation that will have nothing to do with the fantasies playing out in his stupid brain.</p><p>But Steve doesn’t answer, just tilts his head, his smile growing, glancing over at Billy through his lashes. Which doesn’t help.</p><p>He hears Heather in his head. The same thing she’s told him a million times since he died. Since that first time, when she held his hand in the hospital, still sallow and emaciated from her own ordeal, and said Billy, <em>you deserve good things too</em>, in that bossy, bitchy tone she used on kids who misbehaved at the pool. </p><p>He would’ve shrugged her off if she’d been gentle with him. If she’d said it softly. He couldn’t handle it back then. And she knew it, so she scolded him into submission instead. </p><p>But it didn’t stick. It never does. </p><p>He’s starting to wonder if he might want it to though. Just maybe, he might finally be ready to get his shit together and let himself have something he actually wants. He might be tired of fucking up on purpose. Pushing people away.</p><p>“You with me, Hargrove?” </p><p>“No,” Billy mutters, almost petulant. </p><p>Thankfully Steve doesn’t seem to mind. He snorts, and shoves Billy’s shoulder. Playfully, the way friends do, but still. The touch of his hand on bare skin sets sparks fizzing all through Billy. A decidedly <em>not just friends</em> reaction that curdles in his gut. </p><p>God, having male friends always gets so fucking complicated. Even ones that aren’t Steve goddamn Harrington, because this is just...so much worse.</p><p>“Where’s your head at, then?” Steve asks, tone light, nudging their shoulders together to punctuate the question. </p><p>Is he <em>always </em>this tactile? Billy might have to move. New city, new state, whatever. Away from this. </p><p>“Where it usually is.” Thank god for technicalities.</p><p>There’s a pause. Billy glances at Steve, out of the corner of his eye sees the pinch between his brows. “And where’s that?”</p><p>“None of your damn business, Harrington” There’s no heat in his tone, he can’t seem to muster any. Just comes out sounding childishly grumpy, which isn’t ideal. </p><p>“Alright.” Steve raises his hands, palms out. “Just making conversation.”</p><p>Billy lets out a breath, a quiet sigh. “Well ask me something else.” </p><p>“What’s your favourite colour?”</p><p>“My—<em>what</em>?” Billy splutters, caught off guard. </p><p>“Favourite. <em>Colour</em>,” Steve repeats himself slowly, deliberately, just that little bit snarky. </p><p>Billy turns, faces Steve more directly, mouth agape and his eyebrows at his hairline. “I—I <em>heard </em>you, I just—what are we, fifth graders?”</p><p>“One of us, maybe.”</p><p>He smacks Steve’s arm with the back of his hand. “Dick.”</p><p>“Pretty sure that’s not a colour…”</p><p>A laugh busts out of Billy with no warning, bubbles up and surprises them both. The smile he gets in return knocks the breath from his lungs, and for a moment all he can do is stare helplessly, still grinning. “It’s...red. My favourite colour.” </p><p>Steve hums, his eyes sparkling. “You look good in red.”</p><p>“I…” Billy’s ears heat. Good thing red suits him, apparently. Jesus. “Yeah, I know.”</p><p>The thing is, he means it, he does know. His date night shirt was red for a reason. He likes it, in part, because it looks good on him. But still...it’s been so damn long since he’s done this, he’s out of practice, and his voice wavers. </p><p>It’s <em>embarrassing</em>. Being so damn affected.</p><p>So he shoves Steve into the water before he can respond. All he gets out is a <em>“Wha—!”</em> before a resounding <em>splash </em>cuts him off. </p><p>Steve comes up spluttering, arms flailing a little as he grasps for the edge of the pool. There must be water in his eyes, along with the clumps of hair stuck to his face, because he looks to be flailing blindly. And because all he manages to do is get a lot of water in Billy’s face, and then grab his shin.</p><p>They both freeze. </p><p>Steve’s legs are still kicking to keep him afloat, the quiet churn of the water around him the only sound apart from their breathing. And he hasn’t moved his hand. </p><p>He floats a little closer, pushing his hair back with the hand that isn’t clutching Billy’s leg. When he stops—staring up at Billy from the pool below, water clinging to his eyelashes, dripping down his face, gathering in little droplets above his collarbones—he’s positioned between Billy’s knees. Not close enough to <em>really </em>be between his legs, but…</p><p>“You’re not going to pull me in are you?” Billy asks, breathless, motionless, desperately trying to break the weird tension in the air. </p><p>It doesn’t work. Doesn’t stop his gaze from being drawn to Steve’s mouth, pink and wet, lips parted. Doesn’t stop Steve’s thumb from rubbing slow circles in his skin, confusing, gentle circles, his hand a little higher on Billy’s leg than it started out.</p><p>“Well, now that you mention it…” Steve smirks, teases, but his cheeks are pink. And it makes Billy wonder. And want. <em>Again</em>, Heather’s reminder worms its way into his head.</p><p>He lets his knees drift apart a little more, tugging Steve in a little closer, hopefully drawing his gaze—</p><p>Hm. Yeah. There it goes. </p><p>Interesting. </p><p>Steve lets go like he’s been burned, and his eyes flick up to the ceiling, to the side, anywhere that’s away from Billy, as his cheeks flush darker. </p><p>The corner of Billy’s mouth turns upward. He feels...good. Confident like he hasn’t in a long time. It’s a small thing, the burgeoning hope fluttering in his chest, but it’s something. Something that warms and spreads as he watches Steve clumsily pull himself out of the pool, pulling himself up on his belly and wiggling to get himself higher. </p><p>“Shut up,” Steve mutters petulantly, when Billy snickers. The fact that he’s flopping around like a beached fish dulls the bite somewhat. </p><p>“You’re killin’ me, pretty boy,” Billy laughs, and takes ahold of Steve’s forearm, hauling him up the rest of the way. And then some, ‘til he’s sitting pressed to Billy’s thigh, staring into Billy’s eyes. He’s closer than he was before. </p><p>They both know Billy could’ve let go when Steve’s knees hit the tile floor, but he kept pulling. They both know Steve was letting himself be led. </p><p>It’s not clear who leans in first. All Billy knows is that Steve’s eyes have little specks of greenish gold in them, and the way they’re trained on his mouth feels <em>electric</em>, and he wants more than anything to know what chlorine tastes like on Steve Harrington’s lips.</p><p>The first press of his mouth is a shock to his system. Like touching a live wire, a jolt goes through him. </p><p>The second is no less surprising. No less of a full-body high. </p><p>The third. The fourth. Steve Harrington’s mouth is a revelation, and Billy is more than happy to worship at this altar. </p><p>They tangle together, hands wandering, Billy always chasing more, <em>more</em>, slipping his tongue into Steve’s mouth, shifting his leg so his thigh is pressed more firmly to Steve’s knee. Now that the floodgates have opened he’s helplessly caught in the tide of his own desire, desperately clinging to Steve now that he knows he’s <em>allowed to</em>. </p><p>And then they have to come up for air. </p><p>Billy chases his lips as he pulls back, a pitiful whine sticking in his throat. Steve chuckles, low and amused. The laugh might’ve stung if it wasn’t for the thumb stroking his jaw, the warm breath on his cheek, just as ragged as his own.</p><p>“Heather told me you’d be down here, you know,” Steve murmurs against the skin of Billy’s throat.</p><p>He shivers, and slides a hand down Steve’s chest, fingers playing along the damp waistband of his shorts. “Can we not talk about my best friend right now?” </p><p>Steve nips his collarbone. “She told me when you’d be working too. So I’d know when to come back to my apartment. Said not to push you. You’d need time.”</p><p>Billy pulls back. Stares. His hand lingers on Steve’s hip, frozen there, and Steve runs soft fingers through his hair, watching him carefully. “What?” Billy croaks. His heart pounds, so loudly he can barely hear himself think.</p><p>“I wanted to talk to you,” Steve looks away, his gaze wandering, mouth downturned. There’s something bothering him, but Billy is feeling very slow on the uptake, too distracted by Steve’s hands to make his brain work. “I walked past you every day and hoped, you know? Wondering if today would be the day. I wanted to talk to you so bad, but I didn’t want to freak you out, I’m—I’m sorry.”</p><p>Billy blinks. “You’re...apologizing. To me.”</p><p>“...Yeah? I...was way overstepping, but I just—I was—” </p><p>“No,” Billy cuts him off, covering Steve’s mouth with his hand and shaking his head. Steve stares at him, with those goddamn Bambi eyes of his, wide and confused. “Pretty boy, there’s a lot of things I want from you. An apology is not on the list.”</p><p>He can feel the smile tugging at Steve’s mouth, lips twitching against his palm.</p><p>Fingers slip around his wrist, nimble fingers, ones he’s dreamt about in great detail. He allows Steve to pull his hand back. Watches as, instead of dropping Billy’s hand, he brings it back to his mouth to kiss his knuckles.</p><p>It leaves him gobsmacked enough that when Steve murmurs, “Tell me what is then,” against the skin of his wrist, he has to blink a few times and really concentrate to figure out what he’s talking about.</p><p>Steve’s breath is warm. Tingly. And his gentleness...hurts. Cracks Billy open and hits him right in his aching heart. </p><p>He tangles his free hand in Steve’s hair, gripping the back of his neck to pull him forward, jostling their joined hands as he leans in to meet Steve halfway and crash their lips together. The kiss is all tongue and teeth and Steve’s muffled whimpers, noises that light a fire in Billy’s belly. </p><p>And Steve tangles their fingers together.</p><p>Billy pulls back, just a little, enough that he can see Steve’s eyes flutter open, his gaze soft and hazy, trained on Billy’s mouth. </p><p>His most vivid fantasies didn’t even come close to capturing how this moment feels. The way his heart fills to bursting, the tidal force of emotions raging in his chest, waves he can float in but threaten to overwhelm him. He leans back in, relishing the way Steve shivers when he whispers, “Let me show you instead.” </p><p>There’s not even a hint of hesitation before Steve nods, “Yeah,” he breathes, “Hell yes.” </p><p>For <em>weeks</em> Billy’s been dealing with Steve’s bare chest dripping pool water and <em>not</em> being able to put his mouth there, his tongue, his teeth. Taste the salty tang of Steve’s sweat, smell chlorine on his skin, leave him marked and breathless and blushing. </p><p>A thrill shivers up his spine when his lips finally touch Steve’s skin.</p><p>The rosy flush creeping up Steve’s neck is fucking gorgeous. The sound he makes when Billy’s teeth scrape his adam’s apple, a low keening noise in the back of his throat. The way his palms press to Billy’s back, fingertips digging in when Billy starts to suck the base of his throat. It’s all better than he’d imagined. </p><p>And Steve’s choked off sigh, Billy’s name falling from his lips. Billy’s gonna remember that sound for the rest of his fucking life.</p><p>Billy shuffles around, knees hitting the tiled floor hard enough to bruise in his haste. His lips stay at Steve’s throat, pressing heated kisses to damp skin, as he moves to straddle his thighs. </p><p>He’s sitting in Steve’s lap. He’s sitting in his lap and pressing kisses to his jaw and Steve’s hands are hot, clutching at his waist, pulling him close. Close enough for their clothed erections to brush, sending sparks up Billy’s spine, drawing a groan from low in his throat. His head spins, dizzy with lust and drunk on the slow, heady realization that this is real, this is happening. </p><p><em>“Billy,”</em> Steve grunts, sighs, squirming under him. He shifts, rubbing their cocks together again, again, distracting Billy enough for him to stop his ministrations, drop his forehead to Steve’s shoulder and just breathe him in with ragged gasps. </p><p>“I had a—<em>ahh</em>—a plan, you know,” Billy whines, as Steve continues to chase friction, holding Billy for dear life. </p><p>Steve’s lips brush the shell of his ear, breath ghosting over him, making him shiver. “Got—<em>mm</em>—impatient,” he whispers between moans. </p><p>He cannot for the life of him remember what he was intending to do, all he knows is that he doesn’t want this to stop. He’ll fucking <em>die </em>if it does. But then—</p><p>“Wait, wait,” Steve mutters, hands slipping from Billy’s back. Billy freezes in place, heart thudding, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Lemme—” He reaches between them, fingers scrabbling, clumsy in his haste. Billy feels him fumbling around, and leans back to see what he’s doing.</p><p>Just in time to see Steve’s cock spring free, the waistband of his shorts pulled down and bunched under it. He’s bigger than Billy remembers. And he remembers <em>very </em>clearly, their shared showers, the tortuous minutes dragging by and willing himself not to get hard, not to be too obvious with his stolen glances. </p><p>But, <em>god</em>, he’d never seen him hard before, and it’s a damn sight to behold. Billy bites back a delirious groan, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, gaze fixed on the leaking head of Steve’s considerable length. Precome is <em>streaming</em> down his cock, Billy’s never seen a dick get so fucking wet before. </p><p>And then Steve’s hands are on him again, sliding down his belly, toying with his waistband. “Can I?” </p><p>Billy nods dumbly. </p><p>Cool air hits his flushed skin as Steve pushes his shorts down, and he hisses. </p><p>“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Steve murmurs, fingertips skimming the sensitive underside of Billy’s cock. He bucks his hips into the touch, and Steve grins, touching him again. Teasing this time, feather-light and maddening. </p><p><em>“Steve,</em> goddamnit—” Billy groans, and shuffles forward on Steve’s thighs, closer, <em>closer,</em> desperately seeking contact. </p><p>They end up chest-to-chest, their erections trapped between them, pressed together. Billy angles his hips forward, cutting Steve off mid-chuckle, a moan falling from his pretty lips. Their cocks slide against each other, slick with Steve’s pre, smearing it all over their stomachs. </p><p>Billy grabs Steve’s hand, wraps it around their lengths, twining their fingers together and fucking into their joined hands. </p><p>Sweat drips down his chest, Steve’s chest, the frictionless rub of their heated skin leaves Billy lightheaded, lost in a fog of pleasure, the tight coil of it in his belly. The sound of their rutting echoes in the cavernous room, panted breaths and the wet sound of skin against skin. </p><p>His pace stutters when Steve’s free hand comes up to trace his bottom lip, in a way that Billy would hesitantly describe as <em>reverent</em>. He’s thought about Steve’s fingers <em>in </em>his mouth before, but never...this.  </p><p>He meets Steve’s eyes, takes in his blown pupils, his heavy eyelashes, half-lidded, his eyebrows drawn up. </p><p>And Billy shudders. Comes. Steve strokes him through it, letting Billy paint his chest with white streaks. </p><p>His brain is full of static. Nothing but the pleasure-pain of Steve’s gentle touches on his oversensitive cock, the sight of his come dripping through the thatch of hair on Steve’s chest. And then Steve’s mouth on his. </p><p>The kiss is slow, lazy, Billy luxuriating in the warmth of afterglow. His cock softens, slipping from Steve’s grip when he wiggles his hips, squirming away from the burn of <em>too much.</em> </p><p>Steve’s lips are heaven, Billy’s decided. He could spend hours like this.</p><p>He’s not sure how long they stay like that—lips parting to meet each other, Billy teasing with his tongue, Steve’s hand working his length covered in Billy’s come—before Steve goes rigid against him, a whine catching in the back of his throat. </p><p>He pulls back to see Steve, wants to know what he looks like when he comes. Rests his hands on Steve’s hips as Steve’s head drop back, his mouth a perfect little <em>o,</em> the muscles in his shoulders tensing, and the ropes of milky white that splatter on Billy’s bare chest a second later. And Billy is awestruck. </p><p>“Steve,” he breathes, and gets a vague hum in response. Steve is still staring at the ceiling, panting, his body going slack. “That was...holy shit.”</p><p>That gets more of a response. A quiet chuckle. “Yeah.”</p><p>Billy collapses against Steve with a heaved, contented sigh. “Next time I’m getting my mouth on more than your throat,” he mutters against Steve’s sweat-sticky skin.</p><p>And he stiffens. Realizes what he just let slip. They never <em>talked </em>about there being a next time. They didn’t talk about anything really. None of it. For all Billy knows Steve was after him for this and nothing else, and Billy just went and gave away that he’s...whatever he is. Embarrassingly gone on a man he’s barely spoken to. Desperate for his attention, his <em>love.</em> </p><p>Steve presses a soft kiss to his temple and Billy’s heart stops. “Looking forward to it.”</p><p>Oh.</p><p>Well. Good.</p><p>They’ll need to get cleaned up before they go back upstairs. Part of Billy is already getting tense and anxious thinking about it. Not wanting to get up, not wanting to go to separate apartments and have whatever this is end, or…</p><p>But right on cue Steve starts stammering, “Do...you want to, uh—come up to my apartment, I…”</p><p>Billy grins. Leans up to kiss Steve on the mouth and silence his rambling. “Yeah, pretty boy. I do.” </p><p>“Okay. Okay, cool.”</p><p><em>“Cool,”</em> Billy parrots back at him, teasing, and kisses Steve again. “Remind me to thank Heather for being so goddamn nosy.”</p><p>“I’ll send her a fruit basket,” Steve murmurs against Billy’s lips. </p><p>And for the rest of his damn life, Billy’s glad he decided to move in with Heather.</p>
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